Mistake
by LuvEwan
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi is a member of the Agricorps when a friend of his former life, among the Jedi, visits. And brings interesting news. Two completed, alternate universe vignettes.
1. Mistake

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Mistake

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A Vignette by LuvEwan

PG

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

Obi-Wan Kenobi meets with a friend of his childhood, and attempts to cope with the contrasts between them. A completed, alternate universe vignette.

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Obi-Wan could barely regulate his footsteps to a normal, smooth gait. Nine years of intensely focused training had eradicated many flaws that haunted his childhood. For one, he was no longer riding the sharp, crashing waves of recklessness. In the near decade he had spent drilling himself, devoting his energy to study and peace, most of the frustration had drained from him.

The Jedi representative that strode toward the hangar possessed the same inherently handsome face, but his skin carried a distinct glow. He was healthy. And, in his own way, he was happy.

Perhaps this was not the place he would have envisioned himself to be at this time in his life. But a young boy's head was always filled with dreams of hot-blooded battles and heroes, distant worlds and divine purpose. Eventually, every boy had to grow up.

Most dreams were abandoned in the cold, bracing clutch of reality.

But this day was reserved for laughter. He had repeated the thought as he rose from his sleep berth to prepare for the visit. A dark curtain was rapidly closing in on the entire Universe-even touching his own, somewhat insignificant atmosphere. This reunion _would_ be comprised of mirth and warm memories.

Any envy he might have harbored had since wilted, and lay like a twisted, felled weed inside him. There was only eagerness lighting Obi-Wan's eyes.

The small ship landed quickly, but with a fluid grace that the young Jedi recognized at once. When the single occupant hurdled down the ramp, the grin he had been restraining broke free, splitting his face in a brilliant flash of white.

"Obi-Wan!" Garen Muln had never held many reservations, and did not display any when he engulfed his lifelong friend in a fierce hug.

Obi-Wan did his best to quell the little gasp that leapt on instinct to his throat. How long had he dwelled among those not endeared to him, people who so paled beside this vibrant character. Few could claim a place in the young Jedi's heart, but Garen had been a natural resident, tracing to Obi-Wan's earliest memories. After his spirit wrenching (and admittedly bitter) transition from initiate to farmer, Obi-Wan had tried to sever those ties to the Temple. To succeed in his new and unpredicted career, he simply _could not _be distracted by homesickness.

After all, his _home _seemed to be literally rooted in bloom, crop and cultivation. It would be a disservice to himself to carry the ghosts of an unfulfilled life that would only ravage the current one.

But after miserable sojourns through lonely, moonlit fields, Obi-Wan realized something. In the pitch black, his shadow was eclipsed by the crowd of darkness…and it seemed that he could never prosper while seeking a strictly solitary existence. There were too many yesterdays that cast their own shade on the ground. Even on the most deserted of plains, Obi-Wan was never truly alone.

So he had allowed himself to remember the hours of giggling, rollicking play, leaping into freezing pools and running through hot grasses. Every beloved voice had the occasional echo within his mind. Bant. Reeft. Yoda. And Garen.

In the time that his body grew from its gangly awkwardness to a compact and defined grace, Obi-Wan had come to think of his past with more fondness. He was a member of the Jedi Order. That in itself was something to be extremely proud of.

But he was never looking for esteem. Obi-Wan merely wanted to help. He didn't brandish his saber in duels or pilot impressive ships through a blinking cavalcade of lasers, but his efforts in the AgriCorps certainly did help. What more could anyone ask of their life? He was here because he was _meant _to be here. And every day spent among the revered Jedi in their Temple was a stepping stone, building towards this moment, and indeed, the next.

So why was his hold so unusually tight on his friend?

Garen gave one final, hearty squeeze to Obi-Wan, then tried to pull away. The Senior Padawan had flourished in his apprenticeship, a tall, slender form with raven hair and bronzed skin, a bit battered in places from the harsher intervals of his training. He was nearing an age of independence, Knighthood. Garen always expected to celebrate the milestone at the side of Obi-Wan.

The worst day of his life was the day his friend (and the person he suspected would come closest to being, in the platonic sense, his soul mate) boarded the Monument, and redirected the ultimate avenue he would take. It was a fate no student of the Jedi arts desired. But Obi-Wan Kenobi, like all initiates, had learned that personal desire must be extinguished in favor of the greater good.

Garen would never even _begin _to believe that assigning Obi-Wan to a perpetual routine of planting, weeding…and whatever the hell else an AgriCorps worker did, was for the greater good.

"I've missed you, creep." He whispered, a glimmer of humor coming through the clouds.

Obi-Wan felt the first cool current of tears, but didn't move to dash them away. Suddenly, brutally, he understood the mentality he had adopted in his early days in the Corps.

His worst fear about meeting with Garen was that the jealousy would be reborn, an insidious toxin made potent when he saw the crisp Jedi uniform, the silver cylinder hanging from the leather belt--the plaited strands with their specifically colored beads.

But no. It wasn't the coveting of Garen's position that sent the misery pouring down Obi-Wan's face.

It was the fact that although there were many shadows strewn over and along his own, they were merely that. Shadow. Little warmth could be found in the dark, intangible phantoms that hovered over the earth.

"You have no idea." Obi-Wan rasped, then reluctantly broke the embrace. He was relieved to see glossy tracks on his friend's cheeks.

Garen rubbed the tears off with the heel of a hand. "I guess I don't." He took in the changes in his companion's appearance with a note of sadness. He could never hope to rival Obi-Wan when it came to Force-given, physical charm. That much was evident while accompanying him on trips through Coruscant, or even the Temple.

But the spark was gone from him. And outward calm did not necessarily mean inward serenity. A single word rang in Garen's mind, a bell that shrieked in uneasy nightfall: MISTAKE.

"I know this might sound strange to you, or even insulting, but can I tell you something, Obi-Wan?" Garen asked, when he could speak.

The other man's forehead creased. "What is it?"

Garen had to stifle the uproarious anger bubbling within him. It had taken enormous determination to defeat the blinding degrees of passion he could experience. But now, it was as if his training had been an incomplete mirage. Biting hard on his lip, he pulled Obi-Wan into another, more intense hug. "Right now, I'm damn ashamed to be a Jedi."

Obi-Wan tried to respond, but could only cling to that remnant of his former life, taking what warmth he could before the shadows slid in again.


	2. What Tomorrow Didn't Bring

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What Tomorrow Didn't Bring

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A Vignette by LuvEwan for JadeSolo

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Athena Leigh The three ficlets I posted the other day were responses to a challenge at an Obi-Wan Workshop, and there was a 1200 word limit. Thank you for reading! This second part was a prize for the author that won the challenge. She requested a little follow-up to _Mistake. _Hope you enjoy!

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The Area 4 Vegetable Garden didn't resemble a garden. It covered an acre, in neatly edged squares of vibrant yellow miniccian corn, separated by rigid segments of black soil. There were no benches for the occasional spectator to enjoy a quiet audience, likely because no one would _want _to study the waxy kernels, with their almost nauseatingly salty scent, for more than a heartbeat. Unlike most varieties of the food, the miniccian strain did not grow in large clusters, but within individual husks, verdant cocoons that, once removed from the fully developed pieces of corn, shriveled to a delicate translucence reminiscent of insect wings. It was the unenviable task of the farmers to pluck each kernel from its tiny nest, to be cleaned and prepared for delivery to the underprivileged. The husks were also harvested, used as filler for stews, and, well, gruel.

It wasn't exactly an entertaining or riveting hunk of information, but it was the most Obi-Wan could offer, as he and Garen traipsed along the raked dirt paths.

Garen listened to the spiritless narrative, injecting nods and 'mmhmm's whenever it was appropriate, eyes never straying from his friend's face, for fear he would really have to _look _at the 'garden'. _About the kindest, and stupidest, euphemism I've ever heard._

There was a flicker unburied in Obi-Wan's eyes, but Garen didn't think the personal observation had been noticed. The bond between them was thick in rust. As much as Padawan Muln wanted to believe mental connections as strong as that which they once shared were eternal and unbreakable, Obi-Wan Kenobi's presence in his mind was muffled, an apparition of what an untimely milestone had taken away from them. He wasn't a blaze of life anymore. He was a solitary kernel, yanked from his shell, completely used up.

Obi-Wan sighed, feeling something cold lurch inside him, but knowing he had to say what was at his lips, not knowing what else he _could _say. "Sometimes, the husks are used to fertilize the corn itself." He dredged up a smile, albeit bittersweet. "Isn't that interesting?"

"Scintillating." Garen deadpanned, compassion carved into his features and reflecting in his dark gaze.

Obi-Wan's steps slowed. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

Frustration puckered his chin. "Feel sorry for me. This is where I _belong,_ Garen."

Garen saw the dejection trembling at the fringes of his companion's composure. He gave a small smile and they started walking again, in unison. "So, what do they taste like?"

Obi-Wan stared straight into his eyes, and a sardonic sparkle, a memory of his former self, made a rare cameo. "Corn."

They laughed then, beginning with a chuckle, evolving into throaty chortles, until they were leaning on each other, flush-faced with tears streaming down their cheeks.

The languorous journey continued, and Garen caught a speck of optimism in his own thoughts, relieved that their basic kinship remained untainted. He turned to Obi-Wan, and the gloom descended, for the moisture had yet to dry in those cobalt eyes.

"Hey," Garen touched his shoulder, sobered, "Are you alright?"

A weak laugh sputtered out of Obi-Wan and he nodded. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

For all the potential answers to that question, Garen couldn't think of one, and they strolled in silence for a few minutes.

"How have you been?"

Garen looked up. What was he supposed to say? Should his response be clipped, devoid of the adventure and lessons his tutelage brought to him? Surely he couldn't describe his recent brush with death on Malastaire, or the humorous incident with Master Yoda and the rewired hoverchair? No. Not when the best Obi-Wan could provide was crop descriptions and a sad half-smile. "Fine."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I'd say knighthood is right around the corner for you."

Something ground inside the Padawan, and Garen grimaced, huffing out a breath. "Obi-Wan, we don't have to talk about this--"

"It's your _life_, Garen. I'd like to know." For his part, Obi-Wan appeared softly unaffected, his hands in his pockets.

Garen was less than willing to reply. He wasn't keen on toying with the knife the Order already slammed into Obi-Wan's back. It was still there. The handle, covered in the smudges of footprints, the blade hot with blood.

"My Master says three months, at the most." He admitted with an adeptly concealed wince.

But for Obi-Wan, there was no hiding his reaction. His eyes fell behind pale lashes and his lips compressed. _Master. _The first half of his life had been dedicated to that word, that title which signified apprenticeship under a full-fledged Jedi Knight, the embodiment of a thousand hopeful fantasies, the first real work he would be taught to do, on missions that would carry him to the exotic or dismal worlds of the galaxy. A word that could have been his salvation, but instead, became another source of emptiness, without meaning.

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Master. And in his mind, a single person had masqueraded for him under that name. Fighting the painful twitch under his eye, Obi-Wan forced out, "How--How is _he_?"

Garen stopped totally and glanced away, gathering the strength required. "That's actually why I came."

"What?" Obi-Wan snapped, unintentionally severe, but beyond noticing. "What do you--Garen, what do you _mean_?"

The wind was running fingers through their hair, somehow enhancing the stillness of their bodies, the pulsing of their contrasting eyes. Garen reached out and laid wide hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders. "They wanted to tell you through a comm, but I knew that wouldn't…that wouldn't be the right way. It _is _a crucial time in my life, Obi-Wan, with the Trials approaching and everything.

"But I _had _to do this. You need to hear it from someone who gives a damn about you, not a droid."

Obi-Wan could barely hear the litany above his pounding heart. "What do you mean, Garen? What do you need to tell me?"

Garen's grip tightened. "He's dead, Obi."

During his gut wrenching trip to Bandomeer, the Jedi had scripted the different scenarios he might have been met with, when delivering the news. Screams of rage-or satisfaction, calm weeping. And, in the darkest places inside him, he feared a righteous smile. But it was still Obi-Wan, beneath the farming clothes and stolen fate, still the good-natured boy of their childhood.

And he wasn't smiling now. He wasn't shouting in misery or rapture, nor releasing tears.

"How?" Obi-Wan asked very quietly of his informer. "When?"

"About two weeks ago, on a battlefield." And there Garen saw it, a crease in the curtain, a flaw in the steady façade. No tears, but there was hard anguish in Obi-Wan's eyes. "Two bolts to the chest. He was gone-instantly."

Obi-Wan was glad for the fingers clasping onto him. If not for the hold Garen had, he would probably have collapsed in the dirt.

Dead. Dead for two weeks on a battle ground from two bolts to the chest instantly gone, instantly dead, for all his worth, that was what it took to destroy a star of the Force and a pillar of the Temple but what did he care about that anymore why would he care about the Temple or the Force or Qui-Gon Jinn? Gods, _why _did he care?

Obi-Wan blinked, and the flooded miasma of his vision cleared. Garen was there again. "Why would they want to tell me? I haven't seen him…in years."

Garen wasn't letting go of him, and Obi-Wan was horribly aware of that. "Once the Council knew what happened, his will was read.

"Obi-Wan, he left everything to you."

Obi-Wan's brows knit. He tried to speak, but was only able to muster a confused gasp. What was Garen saying? Where was he? What in hells was going on?

Wordlessly, Garen linked their arms, and led his friend outside the garden dome, into the hall, and to a chair. He waited for the mist to dissipate from Obi-Wan's senses before he continued, "Obi-Wan, I didn't believe it either. But that's what it said. Everything, every last cent he ever accumulated in his life, was left to you. He didn't even share with family, or the Jedi. All he had," Garen shrugged, "Is yours."

Obi-Wan was quivering, but his voice was surprisingly placid. "He left it--to _me_?"

Garen crouched in front of him. "There wasn't much. He wasn't a king. Or even a businessman. He was Jedi, so his pocketbook was never crammed. But he had six and a half thousand credits, and a small cottage handed down to him from his parents."

Obi-Wan blinked, his jaw slack and eyes helplessly searching.

A warm hand hugged the side of his face. "There's more, Obi." Garen's face was grave, brilliance smothered in gray undertones. He dug in his robe, and produced a gleaming cylinder.

A breath caught in the former Jedi's throat. "What--"

"When it was found, it was returned to the Temple. And, since it belonged to him, it belongs to you, as he dictated."

The saber was in his hands before Obi-Wan was prepared, but his fingers flexed around the weight involuntarily. "But I thought--"

Garen shook his head. "Master Yoda allowed it. He said that…that destiny would see to your ownership of it, no matter how things turned out. He said," And the Padawan waited until their eyes were fastened, "It was still meant to be."

Obi-Wan's bones melted in with his tears, and he slumped into Garen's waiting arms, stomach muscles jerking, sobs torn from his lungs.

He cried for a long time, while fragments of that brief moment in time replayed, and he cried after those had faded, and a fogged mass of gray lay dense over his mind. His tears were purged from a bottomless well, from the loneliness that evaded its rightful vanishing, from the isolation.

The devastation turned to almost spastic heaves, and Garen could do nothing but gather him closer, unwavering in the chaos.

Finally, Obi-Wan was spent, and pulled away, eyes bruised, cheeks splotched with exertion and embarrassment.

"There's more, Obi-Wan. I…I came to ask something of you."

Obi-Wan wiped the dampness from his face. "W-What?"

The sympathy was replaced by something else, something with a fury that spiked in Garen's deep voice. "Take the money he left you-and go. Just _go_, Obi-Wan. Find that cottage and make it your home. Or sell it, for gods' sake, and take that money, too. Make a life. Start a family. Do what the Jedi would've kept you from." He framed the pinched face with shaking fingers, "Do what this place wants to keep you from. Stop struggling here, trying to get in a niche that just doesn't exist in this damned place."

Obi-Wan drew back from the intensity of Garen's words, standing and absently pressing the lightsaber to his chest. "You know I can't do that."

"Why not?" Garen wondered, launching to his feet. "Why can't you do what all of us are meant to do, at our core? Find a woman, Obi-Wan."

"I can't. That part of me, the part that craved _that_…" Obi-Wan shook his head, "It's all gone. _I'm _all gone, Garen. I won't try to love someone, raise children, when I don't have anything to give them." He looked down at the weapon in his hands. "He wanted me to have everything that belonged to him. I'm here because he knew I didn't have it in me, to be a Jedi. It was a knowledge only he seemed to possess. And I have that now." He smiled. "It was the first thing he gave to me, more valuable than credits or a cottage. I belong in the Agricorps, Garen."

He cupped his friend's jaw, and their foreheads met. "I won't leave."

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'I won't leave.'

And Obi-Wan Kenobi sat in his sleep berth, staring at the satchel of credits, the saber, the yellowed, hand-written deed.

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'I WON'T leave.'

But perhaps he wasn't so sure about that after all.

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